Find Them Dead

16 Saturday 1 December

‘For the benefit of the recording,’ Kevin Hall said, glancing up at the video camera in the small interview room at the Brighton and Hove custody centre, behind the former CID headquarters on the Hollingbury Industrial Estate. ‘The time is 3.30 p.m., Saturday, December 1st. Detective Constable Kevin Hall and Financial Investigator Emily Denyer interviewing Terence Gready in the presence of his solicitor, Nicholas Fox. Will each of you say your names, please.’

All three of them, in turn, did so.

Fox was a tall, leonine, silver-haired Londoner specializing in criminal law. Now in his mid-fifties, he had been Terence Gready’s solicitor for over twenty years and knew where the bodies were buried. Gready trusted him implicitly and had long ago nicknamed him ‘King of the Jungle’. Over the years, Fox, a bruiser behind his smart veneer, had taken enough bungs from him to ensure his loyalty — and silence — with which he had created a very nice nest egg in an overseas bank account.

Gready was bleary-eyed, dishevelled and unshaven, and unhappy in police custody issue plimsolls. His suit and shirt were crumpled after the sleepless few hours he’d had earlier on a hard bunk, in a cell.

He’d already been through several interviews about the alleged offences for which he had been arrested, which included the importation of drugs and his apparent links to LH Classics, with DCs Hall and Wilde, in the presence of his solicitor. This interview was being held as an initial enquiry under the Proceeds of Crime Act.

Emily Denyer, smartly dressed and looking fresh, had a sheaf of forms in front of her. ‘Mr Gready, I just need to establish with you some information about your income and expenditure.’

‘Of course.’ He blinked several times. ‘Fire away.’

‘You have a rental flat in Marbella in Spain, for which you paid £272,000 in cash, no mortgage, eight years ago. Is that correct?’

His blink rate increased, and his hands jigged. ‘Yes, from memory I believe that was the amount, yes. But we have never stayed there, it is permanently rented out.’

She shuffled through some of the papers. ‘I have here the past ten years of your company accounts, filed at Companies House — TG Law. That is your company, of which you are the owner?’

‘It is.’

She looked down at the documents. ‘After paying the salaries of your staff as well as bonuses, and yourself taking drawings of approximately £80,000 each year, you have a net retained profit of approximately £20,000 year on year. Is that correct?’

Gready hesitated and glanced at his solicitor, who looked impassive. ‘More or less — I can’t remember the exact figures.’

‘I have them here, in case you’d like to check them?’

‘No, I’m sure they are accurate.’

‘What I’m struggling with is this, Mr Gready,’ she said. ‘Out of your salary, net of tax, you are paying off the mortgage on your house in Hove, yet you and your wife were able to put all three of your children through expensive private schooling, at a cost for several years of over £95,000 a year. Where did that money come from?’

‘Our parents helped out.’

Emily Denyer nodded. ‘Good money in the greengrocery business?’

‘There was, yes, back in my father’s time. He stashed away a lot of cash.’

‘Enough to pay all those school fees and to pay for the flat in Marbella? He must have sold a lot of bananas.’

Out of the corner of her eye she caught both Kevin Hall and Nick Fox concealing their smiles.

‘It was all different back in my dad’s time,’ Gready said, defensively.

‘And in your in-laws’ time too?’ she pressed. ‘Your wife’s father was a travelling sales agent for a number of handbag manufacturers — his patch was the North of England, wasn’t it? Are you saying he salted away enough cash to let you buy the Marbella flat?’

‘He was a very canny man, investing every spare penny he earned on the stock market. He died a very wealthy man.’

‘That’s odd,’ Denyer said, shuffling through more documents. ‘I have a copy of his grant of probate, filed with the Probate Registry. It showed he left a net of £177,532, to be divided between your wife, Barbara, and four other relatives. I’m struggling at the moment, Mr Gready, to get to the £272,000 you paid for your Marbella flat.’

‘Yes, well, I’m sure you are,’ Gready said, testily. ‘I’m afraid what the will isn’t showing you is all the money he had placed, quite legitimately, abroad. He was an extremely good salesman and his customers loved him and supported him strongly. There is a lot of money to be made in handbags.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, I’m an ordinary guy, this is all hugely embarrassing. I’m struggling to keep my legal practice afloat thanks to the ridiculously low fees we get these days. So, my wife and our parents stashed away a bit of cash — good on them. You’ve also not mentioned the money my wife inherited from her mother, close to £300k. What’s your problem?’

Emily Denyer went through a number of documents and spreadsheets regarding his financial accounts and background over the next hour.

‘Have you now all the answers you need, Ms Denyer?’ Fox asked.

Gready glanced at his wrist, forgetting his watch wasn’t there — it had been taken off him for safekeeping after his arrest. He glanced at his solicitor’s watch. 4.53 p.m.

Emily Denyer produced a clear plastic exhibits bag, with an Envoseal tag securing it and a signed exhibit label. Inside was his beloved Rolex.

Sounding much more friendly, she said, ‘Nice watch! My dad’s got one very similar. Can I have a look?’

‘Yes, please do!’ he said proudly, thinking that maybe this could be the icebreaker between them.

She made a play of peering closely at it, through the plastic. ‘Am I right, it’s a Rolex Submariner?’

Gready nodded eagerly. ‘Yes.’

‘A vintage one? Looks vintage to me.’

Gready nodded again. ‘Yes, you are right. Circa 1955!’

‘Very nice, must be worth a few bob.’

‘It’s insured for £50,000.’

‘Very sensible,’ she replied. ‘I’d make sure it was well insured if it was mine.’ Then, seamlessly, before Terence Gready was even aware what she was doing, she dropped the watch into her briefcase. ‘I need to retain this.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What are you doing? You can’t take it!’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a receipt for it — I have one here. Your watch will be part of our investigation. If everything is fine, you’ll get it back. You will just need to prove to us that the money to purchase it came from a legitimate source — that it was honestly purchased.’

‘This is outrageous. I’m a solicitor, I bought it out of my earnings. You can’t take my watch, give it back to me, you bloody bitch!’

She smiled at him, and at the ruffled face of his solicitor. In a calm voice she said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve been called a lot worse.’